added to the dignity of constable that of first whip to the harriers, then kept in the town by the late Squire Bowser. When hunting, Hedley never mounted, but always followed the hounds on foot, being renowned for his quickness of paca A da/s sport was then entered into with a zest quite unknown to modern times ; for the blacksmith would leave his smithy, the cobbler his stall, and the tailor his shop-board, to have a run with the Squire's pack. Hedley also figured largely in the renowned "Battle of Weardale," which took place between the Bishop's gamekeepers, assisted by several auxiliaries from Auckland, Durham, and Darlington, and a band of Weardale poachers, who, in their love of sport with the dog and gun—doubtless inherited by them from their rude forefathers, who, in the days when the Bishops were such mighty hunters, turned out en masse to join in the chase—would still persist in sharing, along with their more privileged neighbours, in the sports of the moor and field. The old song, written, if we mistake not, to commemorate the battle, expresses the following pretty strong sentiments on this subject:—
But we bring her down neatly, I vow and declare:
The miners of Weardale, well have them to ken,
Will fight till they die for the bonny moor-hen.
Tradition has handed down many amusing anecdotes of this renowned fight, some of which are not very complimentary to the valour of the Auckland heroes. One tale in particular is told of an individual, rejoicing in the sobriquet of "Mickey." He was despatched to the scene of the anticipated encounter with a bundle of constables' batons, and on being met by some of the Weardale men in the neighbourhood of Stanhope, and asked by them what he had got under his arm, exclaimed, "Bagpipes ! Gie me a ha'penny an' awl play ye a teun." The keepers and their friends had taken up their quarters at an inn in the neighbourhood of St. John's Chapel, and, having refreshed the inner man, were preparing to sally forth, when one of the poachers fired a gun down the chimney, a simultaneous attack being also made on the house from the outside. The surprise was complete, and the keepers, receiving a rather severe handling, were glad to beat a hasty retreat, some of them having to be brought home in a post-chaise. The bare mention of this renowned battle was sufficient to rouse the excitable temperament of poor Hedley. He was a man of remarkable bodily vigour, and when he had attained the age of seventy-seven years, he issued a challenge, by handbill, offering to walk or run any man in the world his age, to Durham and back. A portrait of this old worthy with a couple of harriers, was painted by the late Thomas Edwards, of Bishop Auckland, copies of which still grace the bars and tap-rooms of some of our inns.
From Hedley, we glide naturally to old John Borrowdale, who combined with the office of constable those of poet and tragedian ? Who, that remembers Auckland theatricals in those days, has not heard him recite his original poem, "The Auckland Hunt," written in commemoration of a run with the harriers? On these occasions he was dressed out in the Squire's leather breeches and red hunting coat, and carried a silver-headed hunting whip, a certain number of cracks from which were requisite to give effect to the poetry. They will also remember his personation of "Douglass" and "Richard the Third,"* many of the readings of which would have puzzled the great Bard of Avon himself; and how, when he fell beneath the sword of Richmond, the plaudits were so loud and long that the curtain had to be
- ↑ Some one has said that "there is but one step between the sublime and the ludicrous." The following incident is an apt illustration of that truism : — On one of these occasions, in more modern times, when John was personating; Richard III., the character"See the players well bestowed,
For they are the abstract and brief chronicles of the times. "—Hamlet.of Richmond was performed by old Stewart, a well-known strolling disciple of the "Sock and Buskin," on which occasion your humble servant and a comrade constituted his "whole army." He had just delivered the speech beginning with "Thus far into the bowels of the land have we marched on without impediment," when an untoward accident occurred, which infused a little comedy into this—one of the most tragic of Shakespeare's tragedies. In his gesticulations, in thus addressing his army, he approached rather too near the wing at the side of the stage, which was illuminated by a few "long sixteens," and the feather with which his helmet was decorated caught fire, and his aide-de-camp (myself) had to "ground arms," and extinguish the flames—an incident received by the audience with roars of laughter, and joined in by Richmond himself, and his whole army.
